


Do You Remember, Did You Forget

by Crawlingthroughashes



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Reincarnation, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 15:45:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5054530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crawlingthroughashes/pseuds/Crawlingthroughashes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knows he isn't real. He knows he doesn't exist. But still, he dreams.<br/> <span class="small">kirastkirozakirent on tumblr requested a bluepulse soulmate au</span></p>
            </blockquote>





	Do You Remember, Did You Forget

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely based off the prompt: soulmate au where when you sleep you dream of whatever they’re experiencing from their point of view until you find them.

I.  
"Why are you sitting by yourself?"

He startles at the voice now intruding his thoughts, before slowly turning to peer up at the boy standing behind him. The boy rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, causing pebbles underfoot to crunch noisily. 

"My best friend isn't allowed to hang out today." He says it with a shrug, like he's not really bothered, even though he is.

The boy doesn't question why, doesn't demand an explanation. Even if he had asked, Jaime wouldn't know what to tell him. He doesn't understand himself why sometimes Tye comes to school with fresh bruises purpling across his face, or why he sometimes isn't allowed to come to the playground for no apparent reason. 

The boy doesn't ask about any of that, just smiles sweetly. "Can I sit with you?" he asks, gesturing to the vacant swing. 

Jaime nods wordlessly, watching the auburn haired boy clamber onto the swing. He secures his hands around the metal chains and kicks off with his feet. "Bet I can swing higher than you." 

No way!" Jaime immediately pumps his legs, determined to beat the strange boy with grass stains on his clothes and hair long enough for Jaime's parents too call "scruffy." He doesn't think it looks scruffy. The tufts of hair border his face, sweep past his ears. It looks nice on him. 

"I'm winning!" the boy declares. 

Jaime counters with "Not for long!" 

With the sun beating down on them, and peals of laughter piercing the air, they continue to swing higher, and higher. Jaime feels like he's flying. 

  
  


When Jaime Reyes was a kid, he regaled his parents with stories of his new friend. He'd describe him in detail, or at least, in as much detail as his limited elementary-school vocabulary would allow. His mother beamed when he spoke of his new friend.

"It's nice to hear you spending time with someone other than Tye. It's important to surround yourself with lots of friends, _mi hijo._ " 

His father was pleased, too, but when he asked Jaime when he met his new friend, Jaime was unable to give a straight answer. "I...I don't know. We hung out at the park. Tye couldn't come because his parents wouldn't let him. I think they might be hurting Tye," he adds. 

"What do you mean?" Bianca Reyes had demanded with a frown. 

"It's just... he always has these bruises." 

His parents shared a look. "I've never noticed any bruises, Jaime." 

"They're there!" He insisted. "His step-dad... beat him." He's not sure where the words are coming from, why he says them. 

"Jaime Reyes, I don't know where all this is coming from, but you _know_ Tye doesn't have a step-father. His parents are married." Jaime knew this, but he couldn't help feeling that something was off, something was wrong. Everything felt twisted around and out of place, the equivalent of coming home one day to find all your furniture had been reoriented. When his parents demanded an apology for lying, he shook his head. It was not a lie. It wasn't. He couldn't apologize for lying when it wasn't a lie. 

His parents chalked the incident up to a cry for attention. They decided they hadn't been spending enough time with him. It was a safe, logical explanation. So that weekend, they took him out to the movie theater. Spending time with his parents was nice, but it didn't change anything. 

Eventually, Bianca and Alberto clued in that Jaime didn't have an auburn haired, green eyed friend. They were initially upset, but a documentary explaining the benefits of having imaginary friends for children was enough to pacify them. At least for a little while. But it only served to make Jaime more frustrated. 

"He's not imaginary!" Jaime would yell. 

After scolding him for raising his voice, Bianca would level him a stare. "Alright. Then what is your friend's name?" 

Tears rapidly filling his eyes, he sniffled. "I don't know. I don't remember." 

* * *

II.  
"Why, hello there," a lascivious voice greets him.

The book Jaime's reading slips through his fingers, clattering on the table. "Could I, uh, help you?" he stammers. 

The boy slips into the chair beside him, giving him an obvious once-over, before resting his cheek against his hand. "You have really nice eyes." 

"Excuse me?" Heat flares across Jaime's cheeks. Brenda's teased him about being dense, but he's not _so_ dense that he can't tell that this guy is hitting on him. 

He shakes his head. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I'm new here. Transfer student. My grandparents couldn't look after me so I got shipped over here to stay with some family friends." 

"Oh. Okay..." That still doesn't explain who he is, or what he wants, or why he's talking to him. 

"Look, this is going to sound weird, but I _really_ feel like I know you from somewhere." 

"Well sure," Jaime says with a forced laugh. "You obviously go to my school." 

"Yep," the boy answers, popping the letter 'p'. "Rio Grande High School. Never thought I'd be going here." Jaime just continues to stare, fixing the stranger with a weirded out look that only earns him a heavy sigh. "I swear I've seen your eyes before," the flirtatious tone is now absent from his voice, replaced with something much harder to place. He leans forward, so that his bottle-green eyes are staring directly into Jaime's plain brown ones. 

Jaime's heart hiccups in his chest, because, suddenly, he understands. He'd know those green eyes _anywhere_. 

  
  


The weekend before Halloween when Jaime was in sixth grade, he jerked awake, blinking groggily at the digital clock beside his bed. It was half past six. If he hurried, he'd be able to catch his mom before she left for her first shift at the hospital. 

He all but leaped down the stairs, skidding to a stop once he reached the kitchen. "Mami!" 

"Oh! My, you're up early. _Buenos días, mijo_." 

"Mami." he gulped. "What's the name of the local high school?" 

She blinked at him. "Oh, Jaime, you don't have to worry about high school for four more years." 

"Please. What's the name of it?" 

Her forehead creased as she frowned bemusedly. "Rio Grande," she said slowly. "Is everything alright with you?"

"I dreamt about him again," he murmured. 

"Who? who did you dream about?" 

Jaime's learned the hard way that his dreams need to be kept secret. Any mention of his 'imaginary friend' would undoubtedly lead to a phone call to their family doctor. This was something he should've grown out of. But he hadn't. He doubted the dreams would ever stop, doubted that they would ever recede back into the strange compartment of his brain that they came from. Swallowing back the burn of bile, he smiled saccharinely. "Nobody." 

* * *

III.  
"No! No!" he screams his voice raw, struggling relentlessly against the hands that pin him back. They're trying to restrain him, trying to do him a favor, but they can't shield him from what's happening. Swaths of skin peel off the burning body. The skin blisters as it's consumed by heat and fire. He knows there's no use saving him, but he has to try.

"Oh god, please no." A series of sobs wrack his body. He's supposed to protect him. He promised to protect him. But he was dead long before they'd thrown him in the fire. Logically, he knows this. But he can't... he just can't. 

"Jaime, please," a voice says in his ear, and it sounds about as heartbroken as he feels. "We're sorry. We're all sorry. We couldn't get there in time." 

The smell of burning flesh fills his nose, and his eyes water from the smoke. All at once, the fight leaves him, and he sags against the arms of his friends. Despite the blazing heat that's all around him, he's never felt so cold or so numb in his entire life. _Why couldn't it have been me?_

  
  


He woke that night to his parents standing over him, concern clear on their faces. His hands clenched and unclenched around the blankets.

"What happened? What's wrong?" He's not even sure who voiced the question, that's how out of it he is. 

"He... he's dead. It's all my fault." All his fault. How could he lose him again? One minute the boy was there, bright and smiling, with eyes like cut agate and hair the color of chestnuts. 

"Jaime, cariño, it was just a dream." _Just a dream._ What a lie that was. It was much too horrid to be a dream, and much too real to be a simple nightmare. 

He shook his head stubbornly, feeling chilled and clammy. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck, leaving sticky pathways across his skin. "No, no, it was real. I watched him die. I never even told him... I never got to tell him." He'd ben planning on it. He was planning on telling him, he just wanted to wait for the right time. But it never came. 

"Tell him what?" 

They were both so concerned, and it warmed his heart a bit to know how hard they were trying to understand their son who muttered nonsense and suffered delusions. But no words could ever make them understand. Shaking his head, Jaime brought a hand to his face. When he retracted it, he realized that it was covered in tears. He was crying. He was in eighth grade. He shouldn't still be crying over nightmares. But it seemed he would never quite grow out of these dreams.

The soft shift of floorboards alerted them to another presence. 

"Milagro, go back to bed," his father ordered softly. 

She wiped the last dregs of sleep from her eyes. "I heard screaming." She locked eyes with her brother, curiosity burning in her eyes, burning just like the boy in his dream had. 

Jaime tore his eyes away. He didn't have an answer to any of the questions they asked him. 

* * *

IV.  
"That's the real reason, well, the main reason why I came back to the past. To stop you from betraying the human race, and bringing on the Reach Apocalypse."

Jaime wants to ask why. Why he's telling him all of this. Why he's confiding in him, trusting him, even. But the scarab's picked up on the boy's hormone levels, his quickened heart beat, and that's all the answer Jaime really needs. 

He wonders if he should call him out on his feelings, or if that would be cheating. He mentally admonishes himself for the thought. There are much more pressing matters at hand. So why is it that what he's really focusing on isn't the tyrant he's destined to become, but whether or not he reciprocates Impulse's feelings? He feels a gloved hand tighten around his waist. Protective. Concerned. Caring. 

"I wouldn't," he says vehemently. "I'd never." 

With a sad smile, Impulse meets his eyes. "Except you do." 

  
  


Names like 'Blue Beetle' and 'Impulse' floated around in Jaime's brain for the next month. At least now he had something to refer to the boy in his head besides 'him' and 'my imaginary friend.' Though he's starting to think 'friend' isn't the proper word for it. For what they had.

He wanted to tell somebody about his dreams, confide in somebody who wouldn't look at him like he was crazy. It's hard on his parents, hard on sister. Maybe if he'd been diagnosed with schizophrenia, or something, it would make things easier for them. It would provide logic and reason, and give them something to blame. 

But there's nothing wrong with him. Nothing any of the psychiatrists or doctors he'd paid visits to had a name for, anyways. 

It's hard on his family. But not as difficult as it was for him. How could he accept the dreams as figments of his imagination, when they always featured the same boy, the same smile and eyes and voice? He doesn't know what to do anymore. He doesn't think he can go through his life plagued by memories of events that never happened, of people that never existed. 

* * *

V.  
Hands scramble violently to rid him of his clothes. "Jaime. Jaime, you're so crash."

He can't muster a coherent response, so he opts to tug the boy closer to him, before once again claiming his mouth. 

Their lips move in tandem, sliding and pressing against each other fervently. 

"S-so," the boy pants, his warm breath fanning across Jaime's face. "Still think you're straight?" 

"Cállate," Jaime huffs. "'s not my fault you're so... so..." He can't find the right words. He can't piece together just how much he loves him, craves him. He thinks even if what they have wasn't mutual, he'd be content to just remain friends. He'll take him in every and any way he can. In any lifetime. In any universe. 

"You remember don't you?" he asks against Jaime's skin, mouthing at his jaw. "All the other times."

"I've spent my entire lifetime remembering." 

He grins. "I've spent many different lifetimes remembering. But you were always slower than me." He hooks in fingers in the loops of Jaime's jeans. "You know, they say if you're soul mates, you never forget." 

  
  


"Where are you going?" Milagro asked as Jaime slipped into his shoes.

"To find someone. I hope."

She stared at him over her cereal bowl. "That doesn't make any sense."

"You're right," he agreed. "It makes absolutely no sense." 

With that, he threw open the door, leaving his house behind him. His footsteps followed a path they'd memorized on their own, and he trusted his body to take him to the right place. He meandered through bustling streets and neighbourhoods, thinking to himself how much easier this would be if he could fly. 

Eventually the terrain changed from rough tarmac to loose desert sand. Still he walked on, kicking at loose pebbles every now and then.

Eventually he came to a stop. He wasn't sure why. He wasn't sure of anything, lately, but it felt right to stop here. He plopped down on a sand dune, feeling the powdery substance sift through his fingers. 

He waited for hours. He was willing to wait much longer. But it so happened that he didn't need to. 

"This seat taken?" The fair-skinned teen gestured to the space on the ground beside Jaime. 

Jaime's answer got caught in the scrape of his throat as he scurried to his feet. He stared, heart beating erratically. 

"It's rude to gawk at strangers, you know." 

"You're hardly a stranger," Jaime heard himself say. 

"Oh?" There was a challenge in the voice, daring Jaime to remember. 

And suddenly, he remembered the boy's name. He remembered everything. "It's you," he whispered breathlessly.

Bart grinned up at him, leaning closer so that they were breathing the same air. Jaime shifted forwards to meet him, locking his arms around Bart's waist. A low heat settled in Jaime's body, and his heart picked up faster still. Warmth flooded every nerve point in his body while his eyes mapped out Bart's face, committing it to memory even though a part of him could never, ever forget. His hair was styled differently, and his eyes had a ring of gold this time, but other than that, nothing had really changed. Without asking for permission, Jaime dragged his lips across Bart's soft, delicately sculpted cheeks. He didn't need to ask, because he already knew. Bart sighed happily, interlocking their fingers together, leaning into his body. They held each other for a long moment, before Jaime pulled back a bit. A myriad of shock was still coursing through him. "It's you," he murmured again, because he still couldn't believe the man in front of him was solid, was real. 

Bart's smile brightened his face. "It's me," he agreed. 

**Author's Note:**

> if this fic was confusing at parts then it's most likely due to the fact i was sick when i wrote it and also probably confused.  
> As always, comments are appreciated.


End file.
